You didn’t break me, no matter how hard you tried. Every minute of self-doubt left me armed with a new string to my bow.

The days of success followed by days of tears may have confused me, but they didn’t unnerve me. I was determined you were not going to win.

It wasn’t meant to be a battle. It was meant to be easy. Everyone said it wouldn’t be so, but I didn’t heed their advice.

I ignorantly followed my own stubborn route and listened to my own instincts. But when things didn’t go to plan, I thought my instincts were wrong. I’m glad I didn’t let you make me believe that. After all, a mother’s instincts are often the most trustworthy ones in the world.

There were two days when I came close to accepting defeat. The Tuesday and Wednesday left me shaken. I was tired, so unbelievably tired. I thought about turning back and giving in. I was so close to giving in.

But with the dawn of each new day I soldiered on stubbornly. You would not win. I would not be broken.

Just as I was nearing the end of my energy reserves, you backed down, just like that. It was like the mist had cleared and, suddenly, you submitted without a peep.

From two days of tranquillity to two days of fuss, on the fifth day you relented and all was tranquil again. That was one week ago and I’ve been waiting for you to return armed with new troublesome intent but, so far, nothing.

Potty training, you are done. There’s nothing you can do to me now. It’s over. You can move along and pick your next victim.

I have won.